


Death of Me

by TheLonelyJournalKeeper



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Don't Examine This Too Closely, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romance, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLonelyJournalKeeper/pseuds/TheLonelyJournalKeeper
Summary: Here’s to living life miserableAnd here’s to all the lonely stories that I’ve toldMaybe drinking wine will validate my sorrowsEvery writer needs a muse and mine could be the bottle





	Death of Me

**Author's Note:**

> 20\. top of head kisses 
> 
> The song is the Death of Me by City and Colour.

You can’t sleep. It’s late, and the Bureau is uncharacteristically quiet, but you can’t sleep. Thinking maybe you need some fresh air, you leave your dorm room and wander out onto the quad. The stars are twinkling overheard. The air smells faintly of magic, the way it does after someone has been practicing outdoors. 

Eyes adjusting to the starlight, you see the quad is not quite empty, and you are not quite alone. You hear the faint sound of a sigh, almost lost in the wind, and you walk towards it. It seems you aren’t the only one who can’t sleep tonight. 

A woman sits in the grass, her pale hair gleaming like moonlight. A glass of wine rests in one hand, the other props her up, and she turns when she hears you approach. Her dark eyes widen slightly with surprise when she sees you. She wasn’t expecting to see anyone else. 

“What are you doing awake?” she asks. Her voice is soft, and to your surprise, there’s note of sadness in it. You suspect you’ve interrupted some somber thoughts of hers. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answer. 

She nods in understanding and gestures for you to sit beside her. You do. 

The Director takes a sip of her wine. Her eyes are fixed on something far away and intangible. You ask if she’s okay, and she sighs again. The sound is so dejected it hurts to hear. 

You ask her what’s wrong. 

She stares at you for a long moment. Her face is very close to yours, and up close you can see how beautiful she is and how tired. “Do you know,” she says slowly, “what it’s like when there are people you care for and you don’t mean anything to them?” 

You think about it for a moment and nod. 

She nods too. “But do you know what it’s like to do something unforgivable?” 

You slowly shake your head. You’ve always been a pretty good kid, maybe a bit too nosy for your own good, but that’s how you ended up here. 

“I did something,” she whispers. “I thought I was right. I thought it was the right thing to do. But sometimes, when it’s late, and I can’t stop thinking, I wonder if maybe I was wrong. I start to think maybe what I did...maybe it was something they can’t forgive.” Her voice is so quiet that even as close as you are, you have to strain to hear it. 

“You could never do anything that bad,” you say. 

She shakes her head. “How do you know?” 

You tell her she’s the Director of the Bureau of Balance. You tell her she’s a hero and a leader, and she’s going to save the world. 

She looks at you, almost confused by what you’re saying. “The Director…” she murmurs. “The Director of the Bureau of Balance,” she repeats. “That’s who you say I am.” 

“That’s who are you.” 

“She’s not real,” the Director says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The Director is just a persona,” she says wearily. “My name is Lucretia.” 

You startle slightly, breathe in the word _Lucretia_ and think it’s beautiful. 

“You don’t know Lucretia,” she says. 

“I want to,” you say. Your heart is racing. 

“Do you?” She seems surprised. 

“Tell me about her.” 

“She’s lonely,” the Director sighs. “She misses her family desperately.” Her voice is raw and real. Your heart breaks. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You’re too kind to me,” she murmurs. She rests her head against your shoulder, and in the darkness, it seems only natural to turn your face towards her so you can gently kiss the top of her head. She sighs again, but it’s different this time—a soft, comfortable sigh, rather than a sad, heavy one. 

“Tell her not to be lonely,” you whisper. “She’s so loved.” 


End file.
